


Origins

by mldrgrl



Series: Adventures of The Lady Detective and The Writer [26]
Category: Californication (TV), The Fall (TV 2013)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Family Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-10-28 14:22:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10833069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mldrgrl/pseuds/mldrgrl
Summary: Hank meets Stella's mother





	Origins

Hank could tell there was something on Stella’s mind from the moment she got home.  She put her things down and shook off her coat at the door.  He had the pages of a new manuscript in his lap, a red pen in one hand, and a drink on his knee.  She came over to the couch and sat beside him, tucking her legs up under her before she reached for his glass and took a sip.

 

“What’s on your mind, Sherlock?” he asked.

 

She took another sip of his whiskey and then sucked the aftertaste off her teeth.  “Are you free tomorrow afternoon?” she asked.

 

“I could be.”

 

“If you’re not, you don’t have to change plans.”

 

“It wouldn’t be changing plans, per se.  What’s up?”

 

“I’ve been summoned to tea at Harrod’s.  I’d like you to come with me.”

 

Hank flipped the pages of his manuscript into order and then leaned over to place the stack of paper on the table.  He dropped his red pen there as well and then lay back against the couch, inclined towards Stella.  He put his hand on her knee and gave it a squeeze.

 

“Do I ring Jeeves and have him lay out my top hat and tails?”

 

“You can wear what you’d like.”

 

“Who are we having tea with?”

 

Stella downed the rest of Hank’s whiskey and tipped her head back as she swallowed.  “My mother.”

 

*****

 

Hank was both surprised and intrigued at the turn of events that had him strolling through Harrod’s on his way to tea.  Stella wouldn’t offer him any more information about the meeting except to say that her mother had asked and she had agreed to it.  He didn’t know to believe her or not when she said she had no idea why her mother had called.  What little information he knew about her family she tended to dole out in piecemeal.

 

Normally, Hank didn’t care all that much about meeting a girlfriend’s family, but he’d been with Stella for over three years now and the mother was all the family Stella had.  Of course, he supposed she could have a crazy uncle squirreled away somewhere, but she’d never mentioned one.  Maybe it would be good for her to mend the rift.

 

Stella told Hank to meet her by the elevators before she left for work that morning.  He came upon her as she leaned against a marble column, arms about her waist and head down.  She was dressed impeccably, like any other work day, but there was also something that told him she’d taken extra special, very particular care in her appearance that day.  Her hair was curled in thick rolls and styled off her face.  Both her black pencil skirt and grey blouse looked freshly pressed.  Even her overcoat looked sleek and new, even though he’d seen her wear it a hundred times.

 

“Hey,” he said, sliding his arm around her waist.  He tucked his sunglasses into his pocket and then bent to kiss her cheek, fairly confident that if he smudged her lipstick by kissing her mouth, there’d be hell to pay.

 

“Thank you for coming,” she said, holding on to one of the lapels on his leather jacket.

 

“Of course.”  He offered her his arm like a gentleman and she rolled her eyes a little before she took it.

 

After they checked Stella’s coat, the maître d' showed them to the table where Stella’s mother was already waiting.  Hank’s first impression was one of surprise.  For one thing, she looked nothing like her daughter.  Though sitting, he could tell Stella’s mother was tall.  She had an athletic build and he could see her playing tennis regularly.  Her hair had once been dark, but was now elegantly streaked with grey, ruler straight and bluntly cut at her shoulders.  Her eyes were blue, but much darker than Stella’s.  The only real family resemblance was the same tight-lipped mouth and slightly protruding upper lip.

 

“Mother,” Stella said, nodding to her mother as the maître d' pulled her chair out. 

 

“Hello, Stella,” her mother said.

 

“Mother, this is Hank.  Hank, this is my mother, Evelyn Blanchard.”

 

“You may call me, Mrs. Blanchard,” Stella’s mother said, holding a slightly limp wrist out to Hank.

 

“Lovely to meet you,” Hank said, taking the older woman’s hand and kissing her knuckles.  “You may call me, Hank.”

 

It was going to be a long and awkward tea, Hank was sure of it.  He ordered a whiskey, only after Mrs. Blanchard ordered a kir royale.  Stella, obligated to return to work later in the day, got a seltzer.  A procession of scones and finger sandwiches began to be delivered to the table.

 

All his life, Hank was pretty famous for never knowing when to keep his mouth shut, but in this situation, he kept his mouth shut.  Most of the time, he felt like he was eavesdropping on the conversation of two strangers.

 

“Is Albert well?” Stella asked.  Hank knew that Albert was her stepfather.

 

“He organized a charity golf tournament last month,” Mrs. Blanchard answered, buttering a scone.  “You know how he adores golf.”

 

“Yes, I remember.  What was the charity?”

 

“I don’t remember.”

 

Another painful interchange soon followed.

 

“Our neighbors had a flood,” Mrs. Blanchard said.  “Dreadful.”

 

“Oh?” Stella said.

 

“Their gardner broke a pipe.  He was let go, of course.”

 

“Was it not by accident?”

 

“Carelessness is equally offensive as incompetence.  One can not tolerate either.”

 

Amazingly, Hank was able to stay silent on his side of the table.  Mrs. Blanchard asked nothing of him or about him, and he offered nothing in return.  Every interjection that came to mind was highly inappropriate and he simply amused himself with witty retorts that stayed in his head.

 

“You haven’t asked about Clementine,” Mrs. Blanchard said.

 

“How is Clementine?” Stella asked.

 

“Who’s Clementine?” Hank asked, feeling it safe to speak at that moment.

 

“Stella’s sister,” Mrs. Blanchard answered.

 

“Stepsister,” Stella clarified.  “Albert’s daughter.”

 

Mrs. Blanchard lowered her voice a bit.  “Clementine and Clifford have separated.”

 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Stella said.  She sipped her seltzer and picked at her fingernails with one hand, something she did when she was either bored or nervous.

 

“You remember Imogen, of course.”

 

“Clementine’s daughter,” Stella supplied for Hank.  “Yes, though I’m sure the last time I saw her she was not yet walking.  Her christening, perhaps.”

 

“She hasn’t handled the separation very maturely.”

 

“What do you mean by maturely?  Isn’t she still a child?”

 

“Sixteen, nearly seventeen, and I mean, she’s been getting herself into trouble.  It’s all for attention, really, as you know.”

 

Hank cocked his head after taking a sip of his whiskey and looked at Stella.  She had her cool, stoic expression in place, but he could see her jaw tighten a bit.

 

“What kind of trouble?” Stella asked.

 

“Really quite minor, but she’s been taken into a youth facility.”

 

“Youth facilities aren’t for minor infractions, Mother.  What did she do?”

 

“Well, there was the matter of truancy.”

 

“And?”

 

“And I don’t know, graffiti or vandalism or some such thing.  Minor.”

 

“Mother.”  Stella sighed.  “You’ll not help Imogen by refusing to admit there’s a problem.”

 

“Perhaps you could hasten her release.”

 

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

 

Mrs. Blanchard’s face grew pinched and her eyes narrowed a bit.  She lifted her chin like a woman who was unaccustomed to hearing the word ‘no.’  The mood, though rather chilly to begin with, grew even icier.

 

“I believe you could help the family if you really desired to,” Mrs. Blanchard said.  “Then again, you’ve always been selfish.”

 

“Hey, now,” Hank said, unable to stop himself from interjecting on Stella’s behalf, but she put a hand on his knee and gave it a squeeze.

 

“I have no authority to have a juvenile offender released,” Stella said.  “Especially when the sole reason is to spare you the embarrassment of a troubled granddaughter.”

 

“That’s simply preposterous, she’s Albert’s granddaughter, not mine.”

 

“Even if your motives were noble, which I am in no doubt they are not, the most I could do is obtain a copy of her casefile and request an interview with her.”

 

Mrs. Blanchard dabbed at the corners of her mouth with the linen napkin that had been draped across her lap.  She stared coldly at Stella for a moment and then picked up her teacup and saucer and took a sip of her tea.

 

“I was always surprised,” the old woman said.  “That you would enter law enforcement knowing full well how your father felt about the police.  I’m quite sure it would have broken his heart.  And you, daddy’s little dearheart.  If he could see you now.”

 

“Lady, you’re out of line,” Hank said.  He could feel his blood pressure rising with every word out of Mrs. Blanchard’s mouth.

 

“And taking an American lover.”  Mrs. Blanchard shook her head slightly and took another sip of tea.  “You  _ know _ how he felt about Americans.”  

 

“Seriously, what the fuck is your problem?” 

 

Stella stood calmly and dropped her napkin on the table before smoothing her skirt.  “Thank you for tea, Mother.  If Clementine would like me to speak with Imogen, please have her ring me.”  She put a hand on Hank’s arm as he stood as well.  “I need to retrieve my coat.”

 

Hank waited for Stella to walk away and then he leaned over the table and closer to her mother.  “Lady, you are a piece of work,” he said.  “I should feel sorry for you that have no idea what a brilliant, compassionate, strong and hardworking daughter you have, but that's clearly no credit to you.”

 

“My daughter may be dazzling on the short term, but make no mistake, she is a spider,” Mrs. Blanchard hissed.  “A black widow spider.  It’s best to stay clear of her web lest she devour you whole.  You’d be wise to take my advice and get out while you can.”

 

“Stella and I have been together for over three years, you ignorant cuntface.”

 

“Young man, lower your voice.” 

 

“Don’t condescend to me, you old hag.  You think I give a shit what anyone in this tea parlor thinks?  In fact, maybe I’ll just raise my voice a little more and take a poll on who here thinks you’re a giant cunty mccuntface.”

 

“What kind of a man speaks to a woman with such vulgarity?  I am Stella's mother, and you-”

 

“Lady, I don't care whose mother you are,” he interrupted.  “Stella's mother, the queen mother, or Mother fucking Theresa, you don't get to be a spiteful bitch and not get called out on it.”

 

Stella’s mother finally put down her tea and had the decency to look annoyed.  “I believe it’s time for you to leave,” she said.

 

“And I believe, the next time you think about contacting your daughter, it better be to apologize.”  Hank straightened, though his shoulders were still tight with anger.  “By the way, if your neighbor is anything like you, I’d say the broken pipe was deliberate.”

 

Just to spite, Hank swiped a finger sandwich off the three-tiered tray on the table as he left.  Once upon a time, he may have just upturned the table, but he had more self-control these days than that.  Stella was at the coat check, just sliding into her coat as the clerk held it for her.  Hank took out his wallet and slipped some money into the slot at his station and then put his hand on Stella’s back as she pulled her hair free of her collar.

 

“Can we go?” Hank asked.

 

“Yes,” she answered.

 

He waited until they left Harrod’s and made it to the corner before he stopped Stella by taking her elbow.

 

“I need to return to work,” she said.

 

“Stella, what just happened in there?”

 

“We’ll talk later.  I promise.”

 

“Stella-”

 

Stella cut him off by taking his chin in one hand and bringing his head down for a quick kiss.  “I’ll see you at home.”

 

And then she was gone.  He’d tried to gauge her mood in the elevator and she seemed fine, but he didn’t know how she could be.  She tended to keep those personal emotions very close to the vest though.  He was still agitated and he needed to find a way to burn off some of that steam, so he just decided to walk.  As he strolled through Hyde Park, he pulled out his phone.  Becca answered on the fourth ring.

 

“Father,” Becca said.  “It’s early.”

 

“Sincerest apologies, Daughter,” he said.  “I didn’t even look at the time.”

 

“What’s going on?”  He could hear the yawn in her voice.

 

“Nothing.  I just wanted to call and tell you I love you.”

 

“Are you dying?”

 

“No, I’m not dying.  Will you do me a favor, Becca?”

 

“Sure, Dad.”

 

“Call your mother and tell her you love her.”

 

“Is Mom dying?”

 

“No one’s dying, just please call her and tell her you love her because you’re so lucky to have a mom who loves you and thinks the world of you.  Do you know that?”

 

“If no one is dying, I’m going back to bed.”

 

“I love you, Becca.”

 

“Okay, love you too, Dad.”

 

Hank didn’t feel like he stayed out walking for quite as long as he did.  It was almost dark by the time he got home and he was surprised that Stella was already there.  She was even showered, her face scrubbed free of make-up, and in her robe reading a book on the sofa.

 

“Sit beside me,” Stella said, closing her book and wedging it between the cushion and the arm of the couch.

 

Hank pulled his jacket off and draped it over a chair before he slumped beside her on the couch.  She put her arm around him and he rested his head against her chest.  His eyes fell shut as she ran her nails over his head, scratching lightly.

 

“Becca called me,” Stella said.  “I had to assure her that neither you or Karen had recently been diagnosed with an incurable disease.”

 

“She called you?”

 

“You frightened her.”

 

“I want to be sorry, but I’m glad she felt comfortable calling you.”  He tipped his head up a little to look at her.

 

“I am as well.  And I told her you’d been upset by an encounter with my mother.”

 

“You told her?” 

 

Stella pulled her neck back to look down at him.  “Why would I not?”

 

“It’s…”

 

“When you ask me why I haven’t tried to make contact with my mother in all these years, now you know.”

 

“Did you agree to tea to prove a point?”  Hank pulled back from her a little so he could look directly into her eyes.

 

“God, no.”  She petted his hair back and shook her head.  “I agreed to tea because she rang me up and asked.  I was fairly certain she wanted something from me.  I’ve not heard from her for over fifteen years.”

 

“I called her a cuntface after you left.”

 

“Defending my honor like a true gentleman.”

 

Hank was quiet and let Stella stroke his hair for a bit.  He was trying not to be upset about this, but he just couldn't help but be pissed off at the nerve of that woman.  That bitch.  That cunty mccuntface.

 

“I just...she really pissed me off, you know?” he said.

 

“I do know.”

 

“Didn’t she piss you off?”

 

Stella hummed as a response and kissed Hank’s head.  “I feel terribly sorry for her,” she said.  “She’s a jealous, bitter, unhappy woman and she has been my entire life.  At one time I found that very upsetting.  Now, I simply find her pathetic.”

 

“I once...one time I got into an argument with Becca and I told her I hated her.”

 

“I’m sure you didn’t mean it.”

 

“No, I did.  In that moment, I really hated her.  I loved her, but I just really fucking hated her too.  I would literally rather die than ever say that to her again.”

 

“I have no doubt you love Becca.  And I know Becca has no doubts either.”

 

“I know I fucked up a lot, but I can’t imagine how I would feel...how she would feel if…”

 

“She would be hurt for a very long time, but eventually she would find a way to come to terms with it.”

 

Hank sighed and pulled himself out of Stella’s arms.  He stretched his arm out along the back of the couch and she leaned against him.

 

“What are you gonna do about that girl?” he asked.

 

“I requested a copy of her file and I'll need permission from Clementine if I'm to speak to her,” Stella replied.  “Depending on her crime and the facility she's been placed in, it may just be the best thing for her.”

 

“Why didn't I know you had a sister?”

 

“Stepsister, Hank.  She's at least eighteen years my junior and my mother married Albert when I was nearly thirty.  We're not even slightly acquainted.”

 

“Still.  Any other partial relatives laying around either by blood or marriage I should know about?”

 

“None I can think of.”

 

“Thank god, fighting with old ladies takes a lot out of me.”

 

“We better get you to bed, then.”

 

“Are you coming on to me, Sherlock?”

 

“Why don’t you join me upstairs and find out, Watson.”

 

The End

  
  



End file.
